


Brightly Shone the Moon

by brynnmck



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-05
Updated: 2005-12-05
Packaged: 2017-12-15 00:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynnmck/pseuds/brynnmck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He, the Wolverine, is standing on a fucking </i>balcony,<i> and he thinks this might be the pinnacle of all the embarrassing shit he's done since he found himself at Xavier's School for the Gifted, but it was this or the monkey suit, and at least this option didn't involve any witnesses.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Brightly Shone the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday and merry Christmas to bandgeek, who requested "holiday-ish Logan/Rogue."

Logan leans against the balcony railing, the tip of his cigar glowing red in the cold night as he takes a long drag. Yeah. He, the Wolverine, is standing on a fucking _balcony_ , and he thinks this might be the pinnacle of all the embarrassing shit he's done since he found himself at Xavier's School for the Gifted, but it was this or the monkey suit, and at least this option didn't involve any witnesses.

The kids look like they're having fun, though, he has to admit as he glances back down at the mansion's grand ballroom, sprawling out below him in a swirl of color and the unmistakable scent of adolescent cologne. A huge tree glitters with lights at one end, and the dance floor is dotted with sparks and illusions and acrobatics as the kids seize the opportunity to show off their powers. But even with all that distraction, his eyes can't seem to help tracking on one single figure, a streak of white hair and the graceful slope of long satin gloves as she moves through the crowd.

Especially from his vantage point, she’s too easy to follow; it pisses him off that despite the gloves, most of the other students shrink back as she passes. The part of him that’s a combat instructor appreciates that self-preservation instinct, but the much bigger part of him that’s just Logan wishes they’d get the hell over it, because anyone who spends more than two minutes with Marie should be able to see how fucking painfully careful she always is. He can feel the anger start to boil in his gut, but then two brunettes barge their way through the crowd and each grab one of Marie’s gloved hands, and as they drag her toward the punch bowl her head tips up, and he can see her laughing. They’re good kids, Kitty and Jubilee, even if he swears he’s going to knock their heads together the next time they refer to him as “Wolvie.” The growl that was building inside of him fades, and this is why he’s standing on this balcony like a pansy instead of inside drinking beer and watching the hockey game: Marie is happy tonight, actually happy, and he can’t quite bring himself to miss it.

He watches as she giggles with Kitty and Jubes, watches her pull Cyke out on the dance floor. Under ordinary circumstances, that would have his claws itching, but Scott’s been pretty messed up since Jean died, and it’s good to see him smile.

Though Logan would rather spend some quality time being pretzeled by Magneto than admit that to anyone else.

A noise catches his attention, and he turns to scan the mansion grounds. Speaking of Magneto, he doubts that the Brotherhood is having a warm and fuzzy gathering tonight, and he wouldn’t put it past those sick fucks to try to catch Chuck with his tinsel down. But his claws ease back into their sheaths when he catches a glimpse of pointed blue tail; Kurt looks up and waves, leaving his distinctive tracks in the snow behind him as he makes some late-night pilgrimage, and Logan lifts his hand in return, turns back to the ballroom.

It doesn’t take him more than a few seconds to realize that Marie is gone, and he frowns. He wonders if something happened, if somebody hurt her or annoyed her or drove her away, and he’s just tensing his muscles to start the search for her when she appears on the other side of the balcony’s glass doors, slips out to join him in a rush of delicate perfume and misted breath.

“Hey,” she says, grinning, her eyes soft and dark and mischievous.

“You’ll freeze to death out here,” he answers gruffly, looking at the pale curve of her shoulder, bare between the strap of her dress and the edge of the satin gloves.

She rolls her eyes. “I dated Bobby for a year, Logan,” she drawls, “cold doesn’t bother me.”

“Never listen, do ya, kid?” he sighs, and she grins wider.

“Got that from you,” she shoots back saucily, but when he shrugs out of his outer flannel shirt and tosses it to her, she shoves her arms into it, sticking her tongue out at him as she does.

“Brat,” he growls at her, affectionate, and she just shrugs unrepentantly and tips her face up to the clear winter sky. “What’re you doing out here, anyway?” he asks, watching the way the moonlight shadows her profile.

“Just wanted some air.” Still looking up at the stars, but her lips curve again. “Got that from you, too, I think.”

It makes him uncomfortable, like always, to think he’s in her mind somewhere, all his bad habits and fucked-up past. She deserves better, and the really shitty thing is that there’s a part of him that likes it, likes that she’s seen just about the worst of him and still lights up like a damn firecracker every time he comes back. Yeah, bringing her here is just about the only purely good thing he’s ever done in his life. But on the other hand, he’d basically killed her, too, still has nightmares about those huge brown eyes and her blood trickling off his claws, so he figures any gratitude on her part sort of tips the scale the wrong way.

“My last Christmas here,” she says softly, startling him out of his thoughts. His chest tightens, and he’s just about to ask if he’s missed something when she looks over at him, corrects herself, “As a student, I mean.”

“Oh. Yeah.” The flood of relief shocks him; she’d be safer if she just went to college and never came back, and he’s argued with her a hundred times over her decision to join the X-Men after she gets her bachelor’s degree.

“I’m gonna miss it.” Her accent is strong, suddenly, like it tends to be when she’s emotional. Then she cocks her head. “How come you aren’t at the party?”

He just raises an eyebrow, and she laughs, the sound ringing out in the crisp air. “Yeah, all right, dumb question. The Professor says hi, anyway.”

He’s long since stopped trying to second-guess Chuck’s motivations in saying anything, so he just lets that one go. A companionable silence stretches out for a few minutes, until finally he offers, “You ready?”

She drops her eyes from the stars, looks at him with something he can’t quite read in her expression. “Ready for what?”

“College,” he clarifies hastily.

And a year ago, even, she would have blushed, ducked her head, said she wasn’t sure. Now she just swivels slowly to face him, leaves one hand on the balcony railing and holds her other arm out away from her body, palm open. “You tell me.”

She should look ridiculous, the tattered flannel shirt over her fancy new dress, but a faint breeze carries her scent to him, and the way that familiar Marie smell is suddenly all tangled up with his hits him like a sucker-punch to the gut. It’s a mistake and he knows it, but just for a minute, he lets himself look at her like he never lets himself look at her. He takes in the curves of her body where the long dress clings, the taut readiness of muscle, the confident plant of her high-heeled shoes, the bold spill of white in her long, dark hair, the challenge in those eyes that look a hell of a lot older than nineteen.

It's been quite a year, apparently.

He looks away, swallowing hard. “Yeah, kid. You’re ready.”

He thinks he catches a frustrated sigh, but he’s too busy trying to put a lid on his own sudden and vivid fantasies to really be sure. After a minute, she speaks again. “It’s so peaceful out here, with the snow and the stars and the quiet.” She laughs a little. “It’s what I always thought Alaska would be like.”

“I’ll take ya,” and shit, he has no idea where that came from. Actually, he knows exactly where it came from, it's just the kind of thing he usually keeps buried under about a thousand layers of shut-the-fuck-up, and this is a hell of a time for the strong and silent thing to abandon him.

He dares a glance at her, and her mouth is open a bit, and that is _really_ not helping. “What?” she asks, incredulous.

“After you’re done with college,” he mutters, “if you still want to go, I’ll… I’ll take ya.”

He looks at her again, and the hope and heat and fierceness in her eyes pretty much puts any rational thought down for the count. “You will?” she says quietly, her accent strong again, even on just those two words.

If there’s an afterlife or karma or anything like that, he is so royally fucked, but all of a sudden, he can’t bring himself to care. “Yeah,” he answers firmly, “I will,” and they both know they’re not talking about Alaska anymore.

She smiles, like the full moon. “Promise?” she presses, and it almost makes him laugh to think of when she’d first said that word to him, all skinny limbs and big, tortured eyes.

“I promise, Marie.”

She opens her mouth to say something else, but just then, Kitty and Jubilee come bursting through the doors, shattering the quiet with a chorus of hysterical giggles.

“Rogue!” Jubilee squeals. “There you are, chica. You’re totally missing it—Remy told Piotr that—hey, Wolvie,” she shifts gears quickly, spotting him in the shadows. She and Kitty exchange a wide-eyed look.

“Are we… interrupting anything?” Kitty asks innocently after a second, raising an eyebrow at Marie.

“Dude, Rogue,” Jubilee hisses in a loud stage whisper, “you can so cut the sexual te—oof!” she breaks off as Marie elbows her sharply in the ribs. “Ow!”

"I should get back," Marie says, smooth as silk, but he knows better—her cheeks are pink and he can smell her, anyway.

"Yeah." Jubilee grins, utterly failing to take the hint, as always. "Clearly we have things to discuss."

Kitty giggles, and as they move toward the door, Marie looks at him over her shoulder. "Merry Christmas, sugar," she drawls, her eyes wicked and her voice dripping Southern honey, and lust damn near knocks him on his ass. Through the haze, he sees Kitty phase them through the doors— _show-off_ , some barely coherent corner of his mind mutters—and he can hear more giggling and squealing as they move off down the hall.

He turns away from the door, grips the thick stone railing with both hands, takes a deep breath and tells himself all the reasons why he shouldn't break through the damn doors, toss Marie over his shoulder, and take her to Alaska right fucking now.

He hears a crunch, looks down and sees that he's suddenly holding a chunk of railing. _Shit_. Now he's going to have to go find some cement, and Scooter, their Fearlessly Anal Leader, is probably going to give him the hairy eyeball—or visor, whatever—for weeks and make pointed remarks about appropriate channels for temper, and…

He sighs.

It's gonna be a long four years.


End file.
